973.7L63 

H3L5/C 


Levinger,  Slma  E 

A  child  of  the  frontier 


LINCOLN  ROOM 

UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS 
LIBRARY 


MEMORIAL 

the  Class  of  1901 

founded  by 

HARLAN  HOYT  HORNER 

and 

HENRIETTA  CALHOUN  HORNER 


APPLETON  SHORT  PLAYS 


m. 


A  One  Act  Pla>^ 

About 
Abraham  Lincoln  W 

BY 


lmaE.LevingerI 


w 


D.APPLETON  &  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK         A        LONDON 


The  Appleton  Little  Theatre  Plays 

Edited  by  GRACE  ADAMS 
No.  Titles 

J.  The  Ghost  Story,  by  Booth  Tarkhgton 

2.  Sounding  Brass,  by  Edward  Hall  Bierstadt 

3.  A  Fan  and  Two  Candlesticks,  by  Mary  MacMillan 

4.  The  Trysting  Place,  by  Booth  Tarkinglon 

5.  Yniard,  by  John  Martin 

6.  The  Letters,  by  Frank  G.   Tompkins 

7.  Nevertheless,  by  Stuart  Walker 

8.  Pierrot's  Mother,  by  Clenn  Hughes 

9.  Aria  Da  Capo,  by  Edna  St.   Vincent  Millay 

10.  The  Lamp  and  the  Bell,  by  Edna  St.  VincenJ.  Millay 

The  Appleton  Short  Plays 

1.  Shakespeare  Smiles,  by  Lawton  Campbell 

2.  Dragon's  Glory,    by   Gertrude  Kneveh 

3.  Pan  or  Pierrot,  by  Mary  MacMillan 

4.  It's   Time  Something  Happened,   by  Arthur  Doyle 

5.  The  Blue  and  Green  Mat  of  Abdul  Hassan, 

by  Constance  G.  Wilcox 

6.  Bottled  In  Bond,  by  Glenn  Hughes 

7.  A  Child  of  the  Frontier,  by  Elma  E.  Levmger 

Others  in  Preparation 
Bound  in  Art  Paper,  each  50  Cents 

D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY,  NEW  YORK 


APPLETON  SHORT  PLAYS 

No.  7 


A  CHILD  OF  THE  FRONTIER 


A  CHILD  OF  THE 
FRONTIER 

A  ONE  ACT  PLAY  ABOUT 
ABRAHAM  LINCOLN 

BY 

ELMA  E.  LEVINGER 


D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK      ::      1925      ::      LONDON 


Note  to  the  Producer:  CFnder  no  circumstances 
should  the  advance  publicity  or  the  program  contain 
a  hint  that  the  play  is  woven  about  the  birth  of 
Lincoln,  otherwise  the  dramatic  surprise  at  the  end 
would  be  destroyed. 


COPYRIGHT,  1925,  BY 
D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 


All  Rights  Reserved 


This  play  is  fully  protected  by  the  copyright  law, 
all  requirements  of  which  have  been  complied  with. 
No  performance,  either  professional  or  amateur,  may 
be  given  without  the  permission  of  the  publisher, 
D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY,  35  West  32nd 
Street,  New  York,  or  D.  APPLETON  AND  COM- 
PANY,    25  Bedford  Street,  Covent  Garden,  London. 


PRINTED    IN    THE    UNITED    STATES    OF    AMERICA 


L£?a 


^ 


"A    Child    of    the    Frontier "    bv    Flma    t?     t 
awarded  first  place  in   the  nationalist  o^GeneTal 
ZltZnlT    of    Somen's    Clubs    and    recommended    by    the? 
Committee  on  literature  for  production  in  all  its  federated 


A  CHILD   OF  THE  FRONTIER 

A  ONE-ACT  PLAY  ABOUT  ABRAHAM 
LINCOLN 


CHARACTERS 

(In  the  order  in  which  they  appear) 

Aunt  Sally,  the  grannywoman 
Nancy,  a  young  mother 
Kate,  Aunt  Sally's  daughter 
Nancy's  New-Born  Son 

Time:     The  early  part  of  the  nineteenth  century. 

Place:     The  undeveloped  Western  territory. 

The  room  is  the  only  one  in  the  log  dwelling;  there  is 
a  single  uncurtained  window  in  the  rear  wall  with 
greased  paper  for  a  pane;  on  the  door,  a  little  to  the 
right  of  it,  hangs  a  deerskin.  A  huge  fireplace  formed 
by  the  chimney-nook  is  in  the  right  wall;  above  it  a 
few  pans,  several  pots  and  a  skillet,  between  the  fire- 
place and  back  wall  a  spinning  wheel.  Before  the 
window,  also  before  the  low-burning  fire,  two  three- 
legged  stools;  in  the  angle  made  by  the  left  corner, 
a  bedstead  made  of  poles  stuck  between  the  logs,  the 
ufoot"  supported  by  a  crotched  stick  driven  into  the 
dirt  floor.  Along  the  left  wall  a  table  made  from 
a  huge  hewn  log  standing  on  four  legs;  on  one 
corner  a  few  tin  and  pewter  dishes. 

Above  the  fire  on  a  sort  of  crane  hangs  a  huge  black 
kettle.    It  is  steaming  and  the  Woman  standing  be- 


2  A  CHILD  OF  THE  FRONTIER 

fore  it  prods  the  white  clothes  hanging  from  it  with 
a  long  stick.  She  wears  a  skirt  of  deerskin,  a  worn 
knit  shawl  and  soft  moccasin-like  shoes,  made  of 
skin.  Her  scant  hair  is  just  touched  with  gray.  Her 
bowed  shoulders  are  turned  to  the  audience.  She 
sings,  as  she  works,  that  old  hymn  of  Watts,  with 
the  weird  intonations  one  often  catches  in  the  voice 
of  the  lonely  woman  of  the  farm  or  mountains. 
The  curtain  rises  after  the  first  four  lines. 

Aunt  Sally 

Before  the  hills  in  order  stood, 

Or  earth  received  her  frame, 
From  everlasting  Thou  art  God, 
To  endless  years  the  same. 

A  thousand  ages  in  Thy  sight 

Are  like  an  evening  gone; 
Short  as  the  watch  that  ends  the  night 

Before  the  rising  sun. 

O  God,  our  help  in  ages  past, 

Our  hope  for  years  to  come, 
Be  Thou  our  guard  while  troubles  last, 

And  our  eternal  home. 

{Her  voice  dies  away;  she  gives  an  extra  vicious 
punch  with  her  stick.  The  figure  lying  beneath  the 
faded  pink  <ekiverlid,>  across  the  bed  stirs.) 

Voice  from  the  Bed 
Aunt  Sally! 

(Aunt  Sally  turns  and  goes  toward  the  bed  with  a 
shuffling  tread.  Her  hard  life  has  left  her  face  stern 
and  rugged,  her  eyes  are  dull.  When  she  speaks  it 
is  in  the  peculiar  lifeless  tone  of  the  woman  who 
seldom  hears  human  speech.) 


A  CHILD  OF  THE  FRONTIER  3 

Aunt  Sally 

Had  a  good  sleep? 

(She  raises  the  patient  a  trifle  upon  the  pillow. 
Nancy  is  a  beautiful  woman  of  about  twenty-six. 
Although  still  pale  and  worn  from  her  ordeal  she  has 
such  radiant  eyes  that  she  seems  almost  vigorous; 
her  long  black  hair  falls  in  confusion  over  her  coarse 
gown.  Her  voice,  in  its  low  refinement,  is  in  great 
contrast  with  Aunt  Sally's  slovenly  speech.) 

Nancy 

Yes.  (Glancing  toward  the  door.)  Hasn't  my  man 
come  back  yet? 

Aunt  Sally 

No.  Snow's  powerful  deep.  He's  been  down  work- 
ing on  Hodgin's  barn,  ain't  he  ? 

Nancy 

Maybe  it  was  just  as  good  he  was  away  when  the 
baby  came — you  don't  need  a  man  around  then. 

Aunt  Sally 

I've  been  grannywoman  for  nigh  twenty  years;  I 
brought  so  many  babies  I've  'bout  lost  track  of  'em. 
I  know  what  I'm  saying.  If  men  had  to  do  the  child 
bearing,  the  human  race  would  go  out  quick— like  a 
candle!  They  play  jokes  at  weddings,  a-carrying  on 
and  a-racing  for  the  whisky  bottle.  But  they  ain't 
crying  like  the  bride  and  her  kin.  The  women  folks 
know  what  she's  got  to  look  forward  to.  We  know 
why  we  cry. 

Nancy 

I  wouldn't  have  cried  if  I'd  known  I  was  going  to 
have  two  lovely  children  so  soon.  (Looking  about 
a  trifle  anxiously.)    Where's  my  little  Sarah? 


4  A  CHILD  OF  THE  FRONTIER 

Aunt  Sally 

I  sent  her  over  yonder  to  stay  with  daughter  Kate  to 
have  her  out  the  way.  (Leaning  over  bed  and  pick- 
ing up  baby,  wrapped  in  an  old  blanket.)  Lord,  he's 
a  spindly  little  thing,  ain't  he  ?  An  awfully  unprom- 
ising baby. 

Nancy 

Give  him  a  chance  to  grow,  Aunt  Sally.  By  the  time 
he's  a  day  old  he'll  be  right  handsome. 

Aunt  Sally  (doubtfully) 

Maybe.  But  I  was  a  grannywoman  before  you  was 
born,  and  I've  tended  'most  every  woman  in  the 
county  these  last  twenty  years  or  so.  I  know  a  weak 
baby  when  I  sees  one.  Sometimes  when  you  can't 
get  'em  started  breathing  at  first,  them  mites  don't 
never  live  long.  Reckon  their  hearts  don't  work  right 
or  something. 

Nancy  (holding  out  her  arms  for  the  baby) 
You  don't  think — 

Aunt  Sally  (putting  the  bundle  in  her  arms) 

I  don't  know  much  for  certain,  and  I've  nursed  plenty 
of  babies  in  my  time.  Anyhow,  the  good  Lord  sends 
'em  fast — and  He  takes  'em  fast  when  He's  a  mind 
to.  We  folks  ain't  got  nothing  to  say  about  it. 
(Walks  toward  the  kettle.)  Guess  I'll  get  the  clothes 
wrung. 

Nancy 

I  just  can't  'bide  still  and  see  you  working  so  hard 
for  me,  Aunty. 

Aunt  Sally 

I'd  feel  right  queer  if  I  wasn't  working.  I  was 
washing  clothes  for  my  own  mother  when  my  baby 


A  CHILD  OF  THE  FRONTIER  5 

sister  was  born,  and  me  no  more'n  eight  years  old. 
And  I've  been  working  ever  since.  Like  my  mother. 
She  didn't  age  much  after  she  got  'round  sixty — she 
just  kept  on  getting  more  tired.  (Begins  to  hang 
clothes  on  line  in  front  of  fire.)  Can't  hang  'em  out 
— they'd  freeze. 

Nancy 

It's  the  bad  weather  that  makes  my  man  slow  getting 
home.  (With  almost  childish  impatience.)  I  want 
to  show  him  the  baby! 

Aunt  Sally  (dryly) 

Guess  he'll  have  plenty  of  chance  to  see  him,  'specially 
when  he  gets  big  enough  to  be  under  his  pa's  feet  all 
the  time. 

(The  door  opens  and  Kate  enters,  a  basket  on  one 
arm.  She  is  about  thirty,  tall  and  full-bosomed,  with 
great  discontented  eyes.  Her  shining  black  hair  is 
wet  with  snow.  Her  voice  is  brusque,  her  manner 
sullen.  She  is  dressed  in  a  rough  skin  skirt  and 
knitted  kittle  with  a  shaggy  fur  coat  she  throws  off 
as  she  enters.) 

Kate 

Think  I  was  never  coming,  ma  ?    (  With  a  nod  toward 

the  bed.)    How's  the  new  baby,  Nan? 

(She  goes  to  table,  takes  bread  and  cakes  from  her 

basket.    Now  she  comes  to  the  bed  for  a  look  at  the 

baby.) 

Nancy 

How's  my  little  Sarah? 

Kate  (snapping) 

Crying  to  come  home.  What  can  you  expect  of  a 
young  one  two  years  old!  Pity  you  couldn't  have 
rested  a  spell  'fore  the  second  one  come. 


6  A  CHILD  OF  THE  FRONTIER 

Nancy 

I'm  powerful  glad  to  get  him,  Kate ! 

Kate  {drawing  the  stool  closer  to  fire  and  spreading 
out  her  wet  skirt  to  dry) 

You  just  wait,  Nancy,  till  you're  married  twelve  years 
like  me  instead  of  just  three.  Wait  till  you  get  five 
babies  in  a  row,  and  one  of  'em  so  crippled  up  you're 
almost  ashamed  of  him  yourself.     You  wait! 

Nancy 

You'll  have  an  easier  time  when  the  babies  get  a  little 
older. 

Aunt  Sally  {back  at  her  washing) 

When  the  babies  gets  older,  her  troubles  '11  just 
begin.  Like  mine.  She  talks  about  having  five  chil- 
dren. Women  nowadays  are  scairt  of  hurting  them- 
selves and  want  to  take  life  easy.  {With  simple 
pride.)  I  had  twelve — four  of  'em  living  yet.  I 
thought  when  they  was  little  babies  was  the  hard  time. 
Up  'fore  dawn  to  give  'em  suck  and  all  day  washing 
and  fretting  for  'em  and  up  with  'em  half  the  night. 
I  thought  it  was  hard  then.  But  them  was  the  easy 
times.  Now  Kate's  the  only  one  that's  a  mite  of 
comfort  to  me ;  the  boys  running  wild  and  you  know 
what  my  'Liza  done.  It  ain't  right  we've  got  to  go 
through  as  much  with  children  and  get  nothing  back 
for  it.    But  what  are  we  going  to  do  about  it  ? 

Kate 

Nothing.  {Turns  to  Nancy  almost  fiercely.)  Three 
years  ago  you  had  the  grandest  wedding  for  miles 
around.  And  now  he  won't  never  keep  a  roof  over 
your  head  for  a  year  straight.  A  smart  girl  like  you 
slaving  and  carrying  in  wood  just  like  the  rest  of  us 
till  your  time  was  on  you !    {To  her  mother.)    I  told 


A  CHILD  OF  THE  FRONTIER  7 

you  so,  ma,  when  the  teacher  fellow  stayed  down  the 
Hollow  and  you  wanted  me  to  go  to  him  with  Georgie 
and  learn  reading  and  writing.  It  don't  pay  to  get 
learning.  Nancy  here's  got  it — she  can  read  and 
write  and  everything — and  what's  it  brought  her? 

Nancy 

I'm  glad  I  know  a  little.  I  can  learn  the  children 
something  when  they're  older,  'specially  the  boy. 
I'm  not  complaining  about  my  man.  He's  a  steady 
worker — most  of  the  time — and  he  don't  drink  over- 
much generally.  But  I  want  this  baby  to  go  ahead 
of  his  father.  His  daddy  can't  do  more'n  write 
his  name,  and  I  had  to  teach  him  that  much.  But 
my  baby's  going  to  have  learning.  He's  going  to  be 
a  lawyer,  maybe,  and  if  he  gets  enough  learning,  he 
might  even  get  sent  to  the  legislature. 

Kate 

That's  likely!  Such  goings  on  don't  happen  to  this 
neighborhood. 

Nancy  (with  pretty  earnestness) 

You  can't  always  say.  Maybe  he'll  grow  up  like  my 
aunt's  cousin  and  be  a  preacher. 

Kate  (scornfully) 

Like  Elder  Cameron !  He's  in  the  saddle  on  the  cir- 
cuit till  he's  ready  to  drop.  He's  lucky  at  the  end 
of  the  year  if  he  gets  enough  potatoes  and  corn  meal 
for  his  wife  and  children,  and,  maybe,  fifty  dollars 
— if  he  can  collect  it.  And  you  can't  expect  your 
boy  to  grow  up  a  regular  sort  of  preacher,  can  you  ? 

Nancy  (wistfully) 

Don't  you  ever  imagine  lovely  things  are  going  to 
happen  to  your  babies,  Kate? 


8  A  CHILD  OF  THE  FRONTIER 

Kate  (shortly) 

No — 'cause  nothing  good  ain't  never  going  to  happen 
to  me  and  mine.  Suppose  I  made  out  my  lame  Jake 
was  going  to  grow  up  a  president  or  a  general  or 
something?  That  wouldn't  make  his  crooked  back 
straight,  would  it? 

Nancy 

No.  But  when  I  look  at  a  little  baby — even  if  it  isn't 
my  own — I  can't  help  making  plans.  The  babies  have 
just  come  straight  from  God — they're  still  mighty 
nigh  to  Him.  And  when  you  look  at  them,  you  don't 
know  what  God  wants  them  to  be  when  they're  grown 
up.  If  that  woman  who  kept  the  inn  had  known 
Christ  was  going  to  be  born  that  night,  she  wouldn't 
have  turned  Mary  away.  She'd  given  her  the  best 
room  in  the  house  and  made  a  fire  in  the  stove  instead 
of  sending  her  to  the  stable.  Maybe  that  woman 
never  knew  the  Savior  was  born  in  her  barn;  she 
looked  at  Him  and  He  looked  just  like  any  other 
mite  of  a  baby.  But  we've  got  no  way  of  knowing — 
we  can't  dream  far  enough  ahead. 

Kate  (mystified,  therefore  irritated) 

That  sort  of  talk  don't  mean  nothing  at  all  in  the 
world  to  me.     I  never  got  religion. 

Nancy  (half -laughing  at  her  own  boldness) 

You're  going  to  laugh  at  me,  Kate,  but  when  I  lay 
here  last  night,  kinda  cold  and  my  troubles  beginning, 
I  kept  thinking  of  what  that  circuit  preacher  said 
down  at  church  last  year — remember? 

Kate  (shortly,  rising  to  hang  up  a  piece  of  wash  her 
mother  has  overlooked) 
I  don't  take  no  stock  in  preachers,  neither. 
(Sits  down  again,  her  back  toward  Nancy,  while 


A  CHILD  OF  THE  FRONTIER  9 

Aunt  Sally  shuffles  to  table  and  putters  among  the 
dishes  a  moment  before  listening  to  Nancy  with 
pathetic  interest.) 

Nancy  {musingly) 

He  told  so  beautiful  about  Mary  the  mother  of  Jesus 
lying  in  a  bare  stable — not  much  better  than  this 
place,  I  reckon — with  the  wind  blowing — and  maybe 
snow,  if  they  have  snow  in  those  far  countries — and 
the  winter  stars  shining  through  the  holes  in  the  roof 
— and  the  little  baby  sleeping  warm  and  quiet  beside 
her  in  the  manger.  A  little  baby — like  mine !  (She 
holds  the  little  bundle  close  to  her  heart,  and  it  is  a 
few  minutes  before  she  can  continue.)  Mary  knew 
beforehand  from  the  angel  He  was  going  to  save  the 
whole  world;  but  maybe  before  the  rich  kings  got 
there  with  their  presents,  she  didn't  think  much  about 
it.  His  father  was  a  carpenter  like  my  man,  and  she 
wasn't  thinking  her  baby  would  be  a  prince.  She 
just  thought  He  would  be  a  good  man,  and  some  day 
everybody  would  love  Him.  Maybe  He  was  just  a 
weak,  unpromising  baby  like  mine,  but  she  expected 
great  things  of  Him.  When  we're  young  girls,  I 
reckon  we're  all  foolish  and  think  we'll  amount  to 
something  when  we  grow  up.  I  know  I  did,  with 
my  learning  and  being  the  best  spinner  in  the  county 
and  everything.  And  when  the  baby  comes,  you 
don't  stop  dreaming — but  your  dreams  change.  You 
feel  just  like  Mary  did  with  her  baby  in  the  manger. 
You  dream  there's  a  prince  sleeping  on  your  breast, 
and  you  dream  of  him  doing  all  the  things  you 
thought  you  was  going  to  do  yourself. 

Aunt  Sally  (wiping  her  eyes) 

You  do  talk  just  beautiful,  Nan.  Better  than  the 
preacher  did. 


io  A  CHILD  OF  THE  FRONTIER 

Kate  (touched  but  scornful) 

It  ain't  hard  to  make  grand  plans  while  you're  laying 
there  on  your  back.  Wait  till  he  gets  falling  into  the 
crick  in  summer  and  shooting  himself  up  with  his 
pa's  shotgun.     Maybe  he  won't  be  even  healthy. 

Aunt  Sally    (with  another  professional  look  at  the 
baby) 

He  looks  mighty  unpromising  now.  I've  been  granny- 
woman  for  everybody  in  this  county  for  years  and 
years,  and  I  ought  to  know  a  trifling  baby  when  I 
sees  one.  He  was  so  sort  of  blue  at  first— them  kind 
never  lives  long. 

Nancy  (pluckily) 

My  aunt's  sister  back  in  Virginia  had  a  little  boy  who 
was  like  that,  and  he's  living  yet. 

Kate 

Humph— back  in  Virginia  where  your  kin  come  from 
must  have  been  'bout  the  same  as  here :  the  only  crop 
that  never  failed  was  babies.  But  it  must  be  like 
playing  to  raise  a  family  in  them  parts.  Back  in 
Virginia  don't  some  folks  live  in  a  grand  brick  house 
just  like  a  church?  And  have  niggers  to  do  their 
dirty  work  for  'em?  That  ain't  like  having  children 
out  here  in  the  wilderness. 

Aunt  Sally  (nodding) 

Kate's  right!  I  been  grannywoman  in  this  county 
nigh  to  twenty  years,  and  I've  seen  women  lving  in 
open-front  shacks  with  the  snow  drifting  in.  I  stood 
there  wondering  if  I  ought  to  wrap  the  mother  or 
the  naked  baby  in  the  only  blanket  they  got.  (Simply, 
for  it  is  an  old  story  with  her.)  And  once  when  I 
come  back,  I  found  the  new  baby  and  the  other  two 
children  and  their  ma  all  laying  there  in  their  blood 


A  CHILD  OF  THE  FRONTIER  n 

.  .  .  Indians !  Their  pa  was  up  the  river  a-trading. 
{Shrugging  it  away.)  Life  ain't  easy  here  like  back 
in  Virginia. 

Kate  {savagely) 

Easy !  I  ain't  got  no  life  of  my  own  any  more.  Once 
or  twice  a  year  maybe  I  get  away  from  home  when 
there's  a  burying  or  a  wedding.  Or  ride  to  the 
preaching  with  a  baby  perched  up  in  front  of  me  on 
the  saddle — and  another  one  strapped  behind.  And 
all  the  work  ain't  so  bitter  as  the  pains  when  they 
come —  {Suddenly  her  hard  face  contracts  with 
agony.)  — but  it  ain't  nothing  like  the  pain  they 
gives  you  when  they  die. 

Nancy  {holding  her  own  baby  closer) 

Don't,  Kate —    It  always  hurts  you  to  talk  about  it. 

Kate  {sweeping  on) 

One  of  them  got  hurt  when  I  was  hoeing  corn  and 
not  looking  after  him  right — the  other  died  of  mill- 
sickness.  I  had  to  let  him  lay,  'cause  all  the  others 
was  sick  of  it,  too,  and  I  didn't  have  hands  enough. 
He'd  cry  to  me  for  water,  and  I  was  too  busy  to  fetch 
it  to  him.  {Wildly.)  Sometimes  on  still  nights  I 
hear  him  crying — and  crying — and  crying — and  I 
can't  never  go  to  him  now. 

Aunt  Sally  {from  her  seat  at  foot  of  bed) 

Don't  take  on  so,  Kate.  Us  women  all  have  gone 
through  all  them  things,  Kate.  That's  all  done  and 
finished. 

Kate 

The  healthy  ones  that  might  have  been  some  comfort 
to  me  died,  but  I've  still  got  Jake  with  his  crooked 
back,  and  his  own  father  not  wanting  to  feed  him. 
Don't  you  go  telling  me  the  Lord  knows  His  business. 


12  A  CHILD  OF  THE  FRONTIER 

When  babies  come  so  weak  and  puny  they  don't 
amount  to  much,  we  ought  to  just  let  'em  die  off  so 
we  can  look  after  the  strong  ones  better. 

Nancy  (with  her  first  spark  of  anger) 

You  haven't  any  right  to  talk  wicked  like  that. 

Kate  (sullenly) 

It  ain't  me  that's  wicked.  We  women  don't  get 
treated  right  but — (Rising  with  a  shrug.) — It  don't 
do  no  good  talking  about  it.  (Going  back  toward 
bed.)  And  I  ain't  seen  the  new  baby  since  last  night. 
(Leaning  over  the  young  mother,  tender  in  spite  of 
herself.)     What're  you  going  to  name  him? 

Nancy   (busy  pulling  the  blanket  down  front  baby's 
face) 

I  reckon —  (With  a  scream  of  terror.)  What's  the 
matter  with  him?     Aunt  Sally — look! 

Aunt  Sally  (taking  child  from  her  quickly) 
It  looks  like  spasms — and  bad. 

Nancy  (frantic) 

That's  what  killed  Anna's  baby.  What  do  you  do 
for  it?    Do  something — quick! 

Aunt  Sally  (reflectively) 

There's  that  woman  down  by  the  crossroads  they  say 
can  cure  a  child  just  by  touching  it — and  she's  got 
all  kinds  of  herbs — 

Kate 

We  can't  wait  so  long — 

Nancy  (turns  to  Aunt  Sally,  wringing  her  hands  in 
her  helplessness) 
But  you  do  something — 

Aunt  Sally 

There  ain't  much  you  do  with  spasms — 


A  CHILD  OF  THE  FRONTIER  13 

1 

Nancy 

You  cured  Abbie's  little  girl — 

Aunt  Sally  (her  slow-moving  brain  groping  toward 
the  light) 
Abbie's  young  one  was  older — and  healthy. 

Nancy 

But  do  something — ! 

Aunt  Sally 

I  reckon  I  got  her  out  of  it  by  putting  her  in  hot 
water —  It  sort  of  loosened  her  and —  (Thrusting 
her  hand  in  kettle.)  The  water's  still  hot  in  here. 
(Turning  to  Kate,  and  going  to  fireplace  with  baby.) 
Don't  wait  to  take  off  its  clothes — help  me  hold  his 
head,  Kate. 

Nancy  (crying  out  in  her  agony) 
Let  me  help  you — 

Aunt  Sally   (with  a  curious  look  for  her  daughter, 
who  has  not  moved) 

What  are  you  waiting  for,  Kate?  Help  me  hold 
him.  You  know  my  hands  ain't  none  too  steady  no 
more. 

Kate  (very  lo7v) 

Maybe  we —  (Looks  toward  Nancy,  with  her  head 
buried  in  the  pillows  and  breaks  off  half -ashamed.) 
What's  the  use  of  fussing  over  a  baby  like  that? 

Aunt  Sally  (in  a  horrified  whisper) 

Are  you  crazy,  Kate  ?  You  ain't  going  to  let  a  little 
baby  die? 

Kate 

It's  better  off  dead,  an  unpromising  baby  like  him. 
Maybe  he  won't  be  no  better'n  my  lame  Jake,  when 


14  A  CHILD  OF  THE  FRONTIER 

he's  growed.  Maybe  he  won't  be  able  to  fend  for 
himself. 

Aunt  Sally  (busy  removing  the  blanket) 

You  got  to  help  me,  Kate,  and  rub  life  in  him  when 
we  get  him  out  the  water.  I've  been  a  grannywoman 
for  nigh  twenty  years,  and  I  ain't  ever  give  a  baby 
up  yet — and  I  ain't  going  to  now. 

Kate  (a  world  of  concentrated  bitterness  in  her  low 
voice) 

If  you'd  thrown  a  blanket  over  my  Jake's  face  when 
he  was  born,  nobody'd  be  the  wiser,  and  his  crooked 
back  wouldn't  be  breaking  my  heart  every  day  of 
my  life. 

Aunt  Sally 

I  acted  for  the  best.  And  now  we  got  to  do  our  best 
for  them —  (Nodding  toward  the  bed.) — They're 
neighbors. 

Kate  (bitterly) 

Then  let  it  die.  They're  better  off  without  another 
mouth  to  feed. 

Aunt  Sally  (bending  over  tub) 

You  come  right  here  and  help  me,  Kate.  She  ain't 
going  to  lose  her  baby  if  I  can  help  it. 

Nancy  (through  her  sobbing) 

Is  he — gone?  God,  don't  let  him  die — he's  too  little 
to  die  and  go  'way  off  in  the  dark  alone — let  me  take 
care  of  him  for  a  while. 

Kate  (squaring  her  shoulders  and  going  to  her  mother) 
Let  me  hold  his  head — do  you  aim  to  drown  him? 
(Bends  over  kettle.)  Why  don't  you  keep  splashing 
him  like  you  did  Abbie's  child? 


A  CHILD  OF  THE  FRONTIER  15 

Nancy 

God — take  me — 
{Hides  her  face  again.) 

Aunt  Sally 

Better  take  him  out,  Kate.    I  don't  know  if  it  did  no 
good  or  not.    Now  we'll  strip  him  and  rub  him  good 
and  wrap  him  in  a  hot  blanket. 
(Kate  sits  on  stool  before  fire,  while  her  mother 
kneels  beside  her  undressing  the  child  in  her  lap.) 

Nancy  (in  a  stifled  voice) 

Is  he —     (She  cannot  bring  herself  to  say  "dead.") 
How  does  he  look  now? 

Kate 
Better. 

Nancy 
Are  you  sure  you're  doing  all  you  can  for  my  baby, 
Kate? 

Kate  (harsh  suspicion  in  her  voice  as  she  continues 
rubbing) 
What  do  you  mean  ? 

Nancy 
You  were  so  slow  at  first — and  you  know  what  you 
said  about  weak  babies — 
(Stops,  confused.) 

Kate  (affecting  indifference) 
What  are  you  talking  about? 

Nancy  (hysterically) 
You  said  folks  ought  to  let  weak  little  babies  die — 
but  you  didn't  mean  it,  Kate — say  you  didn't  mean  it ! 

Kate 

Yes — I  meant  it. 


16  A  CHILD  OF  THE  FRONTIER 

Nancy  (frantic) 

Then  you're  not  trying  to  help  him!     You're  going 

to  let  him  die. 

(She  half  rises  and  Aunt   Sally  hurries  toward 

her.) 

Aunt  Sally 

Nancy !    You're  too  weak — 

Kate  (contemptuously) 

You  don't  need  to  be  afraid  for  me,  Nancy.  I  meant 
every  word  I  said,  but  I'm  like  the  rest  of  us  women 
folks.  I  just  talk.  Talk  and  don't  do  nothing.  I 
ain't  going  to  let  it  die.  If  I  can  help  it.  I  don't 
want  you  to  lay  crying  for  him  in  the  night  like  I  do 
sometimes. 

Nancy  (half  to  herself) 

I  was  going  to  do  so  much  for  him !  I'd  been  dream- 
ing and  hoping — 

Kate  (wraps  the  child  in  blanket) 

I  reckon  you  can  keep  on  hoping  for  a  while  yet, 
Nan.  And  dreaming  foolish.  He  don't  look  so  bad 
now,  does  he,  ma? 

Aunt  Sally  (picking  up  child) 

No.  'Course,  the  danger  ain't  over  yet.  They  some- 
times gets  them  spasms  quick  in  succession,  and  you 
can't  always  do  anything  with  'em  no  matter  what 
you  try.     But  just  keep  him  warm — 

Kate  (briskly) 

Whisky's  good  for  convulsions — 

Aunt  Sally  (reflectively) 

Whisky  helps  nigh  most  everything — snake  bite  and 
heat  stroke  and  drowning.  It  won't  hurt  a  mite  to 
try  it.     (Looking  down  at  child.)     Well,  if  the  heat 


A  CHILD  OF  THE  FRONTIER  17 

and  rubbing  ain't  got  him  to  sleep !  Don't  bother  him 
with  nothing  now.  (Puts  the  bundle  into  Nancy's 
eager  arms.)  Poor  little  lamb!  Keep  him  good  and 
warm  and  don't  give  him  his  suck  for  a  spell — if 
you  can  help  it.  Of  course,  if  he  wakes  and  squawks 
for  it —  (She  makes  a  hopeless  gesture.)  You  just 
got  to  humor  young  ones  when  they're  sick. 

Nancy  (bending  over  child) 
Are  you  sure  he'll  get  well,  Aunty? 

Aunt  Sally 

You  can't  never  be  sure  of  nothing.  (Going  to 
table.)  I'll  just  fix  you  up  some  gruel,  and  then  I'll 
go  home  for  a  spell.  If  you  need  me  again,  just  send 
over  quick,  and  I'll  do  what  I  can. 
(She  begins  to  prepare  the  gruel.  Kate  takes  her 
cloak  from  the  wall  and  puts  it  on.) 

Kate  (near  door) 

Good-by,  Nancy.     I'll  be  in  early  to-morrow. 

Nancy  (tearfully) 

I'll  never  get  through  thanking  you  and  your  mother 
for  what  you  did  for  me  to-day,  Kate. 

Kate  (roughly) 

Maybe  some  day  you  won't  want  to !  (She  goes  to 
bed.)  You  had  a  close  call  that  time,  Nan.  (Almost 
tenderly  for  her.)  Maybe  you  won't  never  have  to 
know  how  it  feels  to  have  a  piece  of  your  body  buried 
out  in  the  forest — and  snow  and  rain  beating  on  a 
grave  that's  so  little  you  can't  always  find  it  right 
away.  (As  Nancy  shudders  and  hides  her  face,  she 
pats  her  shoulder.)  Now — now— it's  going  to  be  all 
right,  I  reckon.  And  you  can  go  on  making  believe 
he's  going  to  be  a  prince  or  something  big  when  he 
grows  up. 


18  A  CHILD  OF  THE  FRONTIER 

Nancy  (rapt) 

I  almost  lost  him — like  Mary  came  nigh  to  losing  the 
baby  Jesus  when  Herod's  soldiers  killed  all  the  other 
children.  But  she  escaped  with  hers  and  ran  off  to 
Egypt.  (In  an  awe-struck  whisper.)  God  couldn't 
let  my  baby  die  either —  He  saved  him  to  do  great 
things  in  the  world. 

Kate  (laughing  indulgently) 

You  can  thank  God,  if  you  want  to,  Nancy.  But  I 
think  my  own  ma  had  something  to  do  with  saving 
that  baby  of  yourn.  (  With  one  of  her  rare  looks  of 
affection  which  causes  Aunt  Sally  to  straighten  up 
considerably  for  a  moment.)  My  ma  ain't  got  learn- 
ing, but  a  grannywoman  like  her  knows  a  sight  more 
about  sickness  than  them  new-fangled  doctors  with 
their  medicine  cases. 

Nancy 

I  sure  am  grateful,  Aunt  Sally,  and  when  the  baby 
grows  up,  he'll  thank  you,  too. 

Aunt  Sally   (slumping  again  and  going  back  to  her 
cooking  with  her  old  air  of  dejection) 
I  don't  expect  no  gratitude  from  children.     I  helped 
bring  an  army  of  'em  in  the  world,  and  not  one  of 
'em  ever  thanked  me  yet. 

Kate  (opening  door) 

Why,  there's  Tom  coming  up  the  road — taking  his 
time  about  it  after  all  the  trouble  and  excitement  we 
been  having.  (Calling  through  open  door.)  Hi 
there,  Tom  Lincoln!  Can't  you  hurry  for  once  in 
your  life?    You've  got  a  boy. 

Aunt  Sally  (shuffling  to  the  door) 

I'm  aching  to  see  Tom  Lincoln's  grin  when  he  sees 
the  little  fellow. 


A  CHILD  OF  THE  FRONTIER  19 

Kate  (walks  back  to  bed) 

With  all  that  to  do,  Nancy,  you  never  got  to  tell  me 
what  you're  aiming  to  call  that  there  baby. 

Nancy  (fondling  child) 

I  always  did  like  the  name  of  Abe.  And  I  know 
it'll  please  my  man,  too.  I'm  aiming  to  call  him  after 
his  granddaddy,  Abraham  Lincoln. 

(1) 

CURTAIN 


Notable  Short  Plays  from  Appleton's  List 

FIVE  ONE-ACT  COMEDIES 

By  Lawrence  Langner 

Introduction  by  St.  John  Ervine 

The  plays  are:  Matinata  (2  m.  1  w.).  Another  Way  Out  (2  m.  3  w.).  The 
Family  Exit  (4  m.  3  w.).  Pie  (2  m.  2  w.).  Licensed  (1  m.  2  w.).  Roscoe  W. 
Brink  in  the  New  York  Tribune:  "Smart,  finished  and  polished  things  they  are." 
Houston  Post:  "Refreshing  plays,  streaked  with  humor  and  originality."  New 
York  Evening  Post:  "Sure  comedy  touch,  clever  dialogue  and  actable  scenes." 
George  Bernard  Shaw  in  a  letter  to  the  author:  "The  plays  are  very  good:  I  read 
them  all  through  with  undiminished  appetite;  and  so  did  my  wife."     $2.00. 

HUMBLE  FOLK 

By  Bosworth  Crocker 

Introduction  by  Ludwig  Lewisohn 

The  Last  Straw.  Tragedy  of  a  German-American  janitor  (1  m.  1  w.  3  boys). 
The  Baby  Carriage.  Comedy-drama  concerning  a  poor  Jewess  whose  stifled 
sense  of  beauty  finds  pathetic  satisfaction  (2  m.  2  w.).  The  Dog.  Ironic  tragedy 
of  economic  pressure  (4  m.  2  w.) .  The  First  Time.  Genre  picture  of  a  girl  of  the 
underworld  whose  natural  gentleness  cannot  free  her  from  the  vicious  circle  of  her 
life  (3  m.  2  w.).  The  Cost  of  a  Hat.  Drama  of  Irish- American  girl  who  rebels 
against  the  tyrannical  coarseness  of  her  men- folk  (2  m.  2  w.).    $1.00. 

THREE  MODERN  JAPANESE 
PLAYS 

Translated  by  Yozan  T.  Iwasaki  and 
Glenn  Hughes 

With  an  introduction  by  Glenn  Hughes 

The  Razor,  a  drama  of  social  unrest  (5  m.  2  w.),  by  Kickizo  Nakamura.  The 
Madman  on  the  Roof  (5  m.  2  w.),  by  Kan  Kikuchi.  Nari-kin  (5  m.  2  w.), 
a  farce  by  Yozan  T.  Iwasaki.     $1.50. 

ONE-ACT  PLAYS  FROM  THE 
YIDDISH 

Authorized  Translations  by  Etta  Block 

Champagne,  by  Isaac  Loeb  Perez  (5  w.).  Mother  and  Son,  by  J.  Halpern 
(3  m.  2  w.).  The  Stranger,  by  Perez  Hirschbein  (3  m.  2  w.).  The  Snowstorm, 
by  Perez  Hirschbein.  A  wild,  rollicking  farce  (8  m.  5  w.).  When  the  Dew 
Falleth,  by  Perez  Hirschbein.  An  idyl  of  love  and  youth  and  age.  (3  m.  2  w.).. 
The  Eternal  Song,  by  Marc  Arnstein.     A  picture  of  labor  life  (2  m.  2  w.).    $2.00. 

D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY  PUBLISHERS 


Longer  Dramas  from  Appleton's  List 

THE  SEA  WOMAN'S  CLOAK 
and  NOVEMBER  EVE 

By  Amelie  Rives  (Princess  Troubetzkoy) 

Out  of  the  legends  and  folklore  of  Ireland  and  her  own  particular 
fantasy  she  has  made  two  plays  as  Irish  as  anything  of  Yeats's, 
Synge's,  Lady  Gregory's.     As  individual.     As  enchanting. 
The  Sea  Woman's  Cloak  (3  m.  3  w.  and  others.).     November 
Eve  (8  m.  8  w.  and  others.).     $2.00. 

MARCH  HARES 
By  Harry  Wagstaff  Gribble 

A  satire  in  three  acts.  First  presented  in  New  York  at  the  Bijou 
Theatre,  later  at  the  Punch  and  Judy  in  the  summer  of  1921,  later 
revived  at  the  Little  Theatre.  "It  offers,"  says  Hey  wood  Broun, 
"some  of  the  most  agile  dialogue  that  our  theatre  has  known  and 
reveals  its  author  as  the  possessor  of  a  rare  gift  for  nonsense.  And 
his  nonsense  is  not  just  for  the  sheer  trick  of  the  thing,  but  molded 
with  satirical  intent."  New  York  Evening  Telegram:  "A  delightful 
work,  as  good  as  Oscar  Wilde  at  his  best,  sharply  defined,  brilliant, 
and  deliriously  amusing."     $2.00. 

GOAT  ALLEY 
By  Ernest  Howard  Culbertson 

Introduction  by  Ludwig  Lewisohn 

A  drama  of  Negro  life  in  three  acts.  First  presented  at  the  Bijou 
Theatre,  New  York  City,  in  June,  1921.  (7  m.  4  w.).  New  York 
Tribune:  "A  stunning  tragedy.  In  the  characterization  there  are  fine 
perception  and  vivid  writing.  There  is  heartbreak  in  this  play." 
Oakland  Tribune:  "Splendidly  and  heroically  written.  A  play  to 
meditate  over."     $1.75. 

THE  SUN  CHASER 

By  Jeannette  Marks 

Author  of  "Three  Welsh  Plays" 

The  search  for  happiness  is  the  theme  of  this  play,  which  is  both 
realistic  and — in  the  poignant  figure  of  Ambrose  Clark,  who  drunk- 
enly,  lamely  chases  the  sun — subtly  symbolic  (1 1  m.  3  w.  4  g.  1  b.). 
John  Barry  more:  "I  have  read  'The  Sun  Chaser.'  I  think  it  has  great 
beauty  and  a  curious  sense  of  mood  and  imminent  vague  things. 
I  also  think  it  brilliantly  characterized."     $1.75. 

D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY  PUBLISHERS 


THE 
PROVINCETOWN  PLAYS 

Edited  by 

Qeorge  Cram  Cook  and  Frank  Shay 

Introduction  by  Hutchins  Hapgood 

The  Provincetown  Players  are,  save  perhaps  the  Theatre 
Guild,  the  most  progressive  Little  Theatre  group  in 
America.  In  191 4  they  began  giving  plays  on  an  old 
wharf  at  Cape  Cod,  plays  which  they  wrote  and  acted  in 
themselves.  Later  they  brought  their  little  organization 
to  New  York.  It  was  then  that  the  names  of  such  play- 
rights  as  Eugene  O'Neill,  Susan  Glaspell,  Edna  St.  Vincent 
Millay,  and  Floyd  Dell  came  before  the  public.  The  ten 
plays  in  this  volume  are  a  record  of  the  Players'  achieve- 
ments They  were  selected,  it  is  well  to  remark,  before 
"The  Emperor  Jones,"  their  most  successful  production, 
had  been  played. 

The  Dial:  "Some  of  the  best  one-act  plays  of  the  last  torrential 
decade. "  William  Lyon  Phelps :  "  We  know  how  much  the  Province- 
town  Players  have  done  to  advance  the  art  of  the  drama,  and  here  are 
important  and  characteristic  specimens  of  their  productions."  Balti- 
more Sun  :  "The  plays  in  this  volume  have  great  variety  of  intent, 
but  each  is  by  way  of  being  a  little  masterpiece."  Theatre  Arts: 
"  The  record  of  the  Provincetown  Playhouse  in  the  production  of 
original  plays  is  unique  among  Little  Theatres  in  America." 

Suppressed  Desires,  by  George  Cram  Cook  &  Susan 
Glaspell.  A  comedy  in  2  scenes.  (1  m.  2  w.)  Aria  da 
Capo,  by  Edna  St.  Vincent  Millay.  (4  m.  1  w.)  Cocaine, 
by  Pendleton  King.  (1  m.  1  w.)  Night,  by  James  Op- 
penheim.  (4  m.  1  w.)  Enemies,  by  Neith  Boyce  and 
Hutchins  Hapgood.  (1  m.  1  w.)  The  Angel  Intrudes,  by 
Floyd  Dell.  A  comedy.  (3  m.  1  w.)  Bound  East  for 
Cardiff,  by  Eugene  O'Neill .  (nm.)  The  Widow* s  Veil, 
by  Alice  Rostetter.  A  comedy.  (2  w.  and  others.)  The 
String  of  the  Samisen,  by  Rita  Wellman.  (3  m.  2  w.) 
Not  Smart,  by  Wilbur  D.  Steele.    A  farce.    (2  m.  3  w.) 

Silk  Cloth.     272  pages.     i2mo.     $2.50. 
¥4  Turkey  Morocco,  $7.50, 

D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY  PUBLISHERS 


Appleton  Dramatic  Anthologies 

25   SHORT  PLAYS 
(INTERNATIONAL) 

Edited  by  Frank  Shay 

A  collection  of  the  shorter  masterpieces  of  the  World's  theatre.  Here  are 
the  stage  successes  from  the  Moscow  Art  Theatre,  the  Royal  theatres  of 
Madrid,  Copenhagen,  the  Washington  Square  Players,  the  Provincetown 
Theatre  and  others,  the  work  of  Heijermans,  Bracco,  Chekov,  Chin-Cheng 
Hsiung,  Echegaray,  and  others,  plays  from  Persia,  Cuba,  China,  Japan. 
Australia  and  other  countries. 


AUSTRALIA: 
AUSTRIA: 

BELGIUM: 

BENGAL: 

BOHEMIA: 

BURMA: 

CANADA: 
CHINA: 

CUBA: 

DENMARK: 

ENGLAND: 

FRANCE: 

HOLLAND: 

HUNGARY: 
IRELAND: 
I TAL  Y.- 
JAP AN: 
MEXICO: 

NORWAY: 

RUSSIA: 

SPAIN: 

SWEDEN: 

TURKEY: 

UNITED  STATES 
YIDDISH: 


CONTENTS 

The  Accomplice.     A  Play  by  Abigail  Marshall. 

The   Festival   of  Bacchus.         A   Comedy   by    Arthur 

Schnitzler.     Translated  by  Pierre  Loving. 
Interior.     A  Play  bv  Maurice  Maeterlinck. 

Translated  by  William  Archer. 
Chintamani.     A  Symbolic  Drama  by  Girish  Ghose. 

Translated  by  Dhan  Gopal  Mukerji. 
The  Witness.     A  Play  by  Jaroslav  Urchlicky. 

Translated  by  Charles  Recht. 
Pyentsa.     A  Play  from  the  Burmese. 

Translated  by  J.  Smith.     Adapted  by  the  Editor. 
Brothers  in  Arms.     A  Comedy  by  Merril  Denison. 
The  Thrice  Promised  Bride.     A  Play  by  Chin-Cheng 

Hsiung. 
When  Love  Dies.     A  Comedy  by  Jose  Antonio  Ramos. 

Translated  by  Dr.  Isaac  Goldberg. 
Eyes  That  Cannot  See.  A  Play  by  Albert  Gnudtzmann. 

Translated  by  Arvid  Paulson. 
Pan  in  Pimlico.     A  Fantasy  by  Helen  Simpson. 
Pierre  Patelin.     A  Farce  adapted  by  Moritz  Jagendorf. 
Jubilee.     A  Play  by  Herman  Heijermans. 

Translated     by     Lilian    Saunders     and     Caroline 

Heij  ermans-Houwink. 
The  Bridegroom.     A  Play  by  Lajos  Biro. 

Translated  by  Charles  Rjecht. 
The  Marriage. 

Translated 
A  Snowy  Night. 

Translated  by  Arthur  Livingston. 
The  Cherry  Blossom  River.      A  Play  adapted  by  Colin 

C.  Clements. 
The  Sentence  of  Death.     A  play  by  Teresa  Farias  de 

Assasi.     Translated  from  the    Spanish    by  Lilian 

Saunders. 
In  Confidence.     A  Play  by  Alvilde  Prydz. 

Translated  by  Arvid  Paulson. 
On  the  Highway.  A  Dramatic  Sketch  by  Anton  Chekov. 

Translated  by  David  A.  Modell. 
The  Street  Singer.     A  Play  by  Jose  Echegaray. 

Translated  by  John  Garrett  Underhill. 
Poverty.     A  Play  by  Hans  Alin. 

Translated  by  Arvid  Paulson. 
The  Disenchanted.     A  Play  by  Izzet-Melyh. 

Translated  by  Helen  Tilden. 
Joe.  A  Play  by  Jane  Dransfield. 
The  Shunamite.     A  Biblical  Play  by  Yehoash. 

Translated  by  Henry  T.  Schnittkind. 

izmo.     Cloth,  $4.00. 


Dy  unarles  Kecnt. 
A  Play  by  Douglas  Hyde, 
by  Lady  Gregory. 

A  Play  by  Roberto  Brac< 


Send  for  Complete  Dramatic  Catalogue 

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NEW  YORK  LONDON 


Appleton  dramatic  Anthologies 


Fifty  Contempbrary~One-Act  Plays 

Edited  by 
FRANK  SHAY  and  PIERRE  LOVING 


THIS  volume  contains  FIFTY  REPRESENTATIVE  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 
of  the  MODERN  THEATER,  chosen  from  the  dramatic  works  of  con- 
temporary writers  all  over  the  world  and  is  the  second  volume  in  The 
Appleton  Dramatic  Anthologies,  the  first  being  European  Theories  of  the 
Drama,  by  Barrett  H.  Clark,  which  has  been  so  enthusiastically  received. 

The  editors  have  scrupulously  sifted  countless  plays  and  have  selected  the 
best  available  in  English.  One-half  the  plays  have  never  before  been  pub- 
lished in  book  form;  thirty-one  are  no  longer  available  in  any  other  edition. 
The  work  satisfies  a  long-felt  want  for  a  handy  collection  of  the  choicest 
plays  produced  by  the  art  theaters  all  over  the  world.  It  is  a  complete  reper- 
tory for  a  little  theater,  a  volume  for  the  study  of  the  modern  drama,  a  rep- 
resentative collection  of  the  world's  best  short  plays. 

CONTENTS 


AUSTRIA 

Schnitzler   (Arthur) — Literature 
BELGIUM 

Maeterlinck    (Maurice) — The    Intruder 
BOLIVIA 

MoTe  (Federico) — Interlude 
DENMARK 

Wied   (Gustave) — Autumn  Fires 
FRANCE 

Ancey  (George) — M.  Lamblin 

Porto-  Riche  (Georges)  —  Francoise's  Luck 
GERMANY 

Ettinger  (Karl) — Altruism 

von  Hofmannsthal  (Hugo) — Madonna  Dia- 
nora 

Wedekind  (Frank)— The  Tenor 
GREAT   BRITAIN 

Bennett    (Arnold)— A  Good  Woman 

Calderon  (George) — The  Little  Stone  House 

Cannan  (Gilbert)— Mary's  Wedding 

Dowson  (Ernest)— The-  Pierrot  of  the  Min- 
ute 

Ellis    (Mrs.    Havelock)— The   Subjection 
of  Kezia 

Hankin  (St.  John) — The  Constant  Lover 
INDIA 

Mukerji  (Dhan  Gopal)— The  Judgment  of 
Indra 
IRELAND 

Gregory   (Lady)— The  Workhouse  Ward 
HOLLAND 

Speenhoff  (J.  H.)— Louise 
HUNGARY 

Biro  (Lajos) — The  Grandmother 
ITALY 

Giocosa  (Giuseppe) — The  Rights  of  the  Soul 
RUSSIA 

Andreyev  (Leonid) — Love  of  One's  Neigh- 
bor 

Tchekoff  (Anton)— The  Boor 


SPAIN 

Benavente  (Jacinto)— His  Wldow'i  Hut- 
band 
Quintero  (Serafin  and  Joaquin  Alvarea-) 

— A  Sunny  Morning 
SWEDEN 

Strindberg  (August) — The  Creditor 
UNITED  STATES 

Beach  (Lewis) — Brothers 
Cowan  (Sada) — In  the  Morgue 
Crocker  (Bosworth) — The  Baby  Carriage 
Cronyn  (George  W.) — A  Death  in  Fever 

Flat 
Davies  (Mary  Carolyn) — The  Slave  with 

Two  Faces 
Day  (Frederick  L.)— The  Slump 
Flanner   (Hildegard) — Mansions 
Glaspell    (Susan)— Trifles 
Gerstenberg    (Alice)— The  Pot  Boiler 
Helburn  (Theresa) — Enter  the  Hero 
Hudson   (Holland)— The  Shepherd  in  the 

Distance 
Kemp   (Harry) — Boccaccio's  Untold  Tale 
Langner    (Lawrence) — Another   Way  Out 
MacMillan    (Mary)— The  Shadowed  Star 
Millay  (Edna  St.  Vincent) — Aria  da  Capo 
Moeller    (Philip) — Helena's  Husband 
O'Neill  (Eugene)— He 
Stevens    (Thomas   Wood) — The   Nursery 

Maid  of  Heaven 
Stevens  (Wallace)— Three  Travelers  Watch 

a  Sunrise 
Tompkins  (Frank  G.) — Sham 
Walker  (Stuart) — The  Medicine  Show 
Wellman  (Rita)— For  All  Time 
Wilde  (Percival)— The  Finger  of  God 
YIDDISH 

Asch  (Sholom)— Night 

Pinski  (David)— Forgotten  Soul« 


Large  8vo,  5S5  pages.    Net,  $5.00 

Special  India  Paper  Edition,  less  than  one-half  inch  thick. 

Limp  Cloth,  net,  $6.00;  Limp  Leather,  net,  $7-5o. 


Appleton  Dramatic  Anthologies 

Twenty  Contemporary  One-Act  plays 
american 

Edited  by  Frank  Shay 

THIS  volume  represents  a  careful  and  intelligent  selection  of 
the  best  One-act  Plays  written  by  Americans  and  produced 
by  the  Little  Theatres  in  America  during  the  season  of  ion. 
They  are  representative  of  the  best  work  of  writers  in  this  held 
and  show  the  high  level  to  which  the  art  theatre  has  risen  in 
America. 

The  editor  has  brought  to  his  task  a  love  of  the  theatre  and 
a  knowledge  of  what  is  best  through  long  association  with  the 
leading  producing  groups. 

The  volume  contains  the  repertoires  of  the  leading  Little 
Theatres,  together  with  bibliographies  of  published  plays  and 
books  on  the  theatre  issued  since  January,  1920. 

Aside  from  its  individual  importance,  the  volume,  together 
with  Fifty  Contemporary  One-Act  Plays,  will  make  up  the 
most  important  collection  of  short  plays  published. 

In  the  Book  are 
the  following  Plays  by  the  following  Authors 

Mirage George  M.  P.  Baird 

Napoleon's  Barber Arthur  Caesar 

Goat  Alley Ernest  Howard  Culbertson 

Sweet  and  Twenty Floyd  Dell 

Tickless  Time Susan  Glaspell  and  George  Cram  Cook 

The  Hero  of  Santa  Maria ....  Kenneth  Sawyer  Goodman  and 

Ben  Heche 

All  Gummed  Up Harry  Wagstaff  Gribble 

Thompson's  Luck Harry  Greenwood  Grover 

Fata  Deorum Carl  W.  Guske 

Pearl  of  Dawn Holland  Hudson 

Finders-Keepers George  Kelly 

Solomon's  Song Harry  Kemp 

Matinata Lawrence  Langner 

The  Conflict Clarice  Vallette  McCauley 

Two  Slatterns  and  a  King Edna  St.  Vincent  Millay 

Thursday  Evening Christopher  Morley 

The  Dreamy  Kid Eugene  O'Neill 

Forbidden  Fruit George  J.  Smith 

Jezebel Dorothy  Stockbridge 

Sir  David  Wears  a  Crown Stuart  Walker 

i2mo.     Cloth,  $3.75 
Send  for  Complete  Dramatic  Catalogue 

D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK  LONDON 


The  Appleton  Modern  Plays 

Edited  by  FRANK  SHAY 

No.  Ti^»e,8,# 

1.  Sham,  by  Frank  G.  Tompkins 

2.  The  Shepherd  in  the  Distance,  by  Holland  Hudson 

3.  Mansions,  by  Hildegarde  Flanner 

4.  Hearts  to  Mend,  by  H.  A.  Overstreet 

5.  Six  Who  Pass  While  the  Lentils  Boil,  by  Stuart  Walker 

6.  The  Emperor  Jones,  by  Eugene  O'Neill 

7.  Sweet  and  Twenty,  by  Floyd  Dell 

8.  Two  Slatterns  and  a  King,  by  Edna  St.  Vincent  Millay 

9.  Sir  David  Wears  a  Crown,  by  Stuart  Walker 

10.  Thursday  Evening,  by  Christopher  Morley 

11.  Mirage,  by  George  M.  P.  Baird 

12.  Society  Notes,  by  Duffy  R.  West 

13.  Lithuania,  by  Rupert  Brooke 

14.  Eyes  That  Cannot  See,  by  Albert  Gnudtzmann 

15.  In  Confidence,  by  Alvilde  Prydz 

16.  Scrambled  Eggs,  by  Lawton  Mackall  and  Francis  R.  Bellamy 

17.  The  Stick  Up,  by  Pierre  Loving 

18.  The  Fountain  of  Youth, 

by  Serafin  and  Joaquin  Aloarez-Quintero 

19.  Thompson's  Luck,  by  Harry  Greenwood  Grover 

20.  Finders — Keepers,  by  George  Kelly 

21.  Why  Girls  Stay  Home,  by  Maude  Humphrey 

22.  Princesses,  by  Helen  Haiman  Joseph 

23.  Action!  by  Holland  Hudson 

24.  Wreckage,  by  Mary  Heaton  Vorse  and  Colin  Campbell  Clements 

25.  The  Delta  Wife,  by  Walter  McClellan 

26.  A  Morality  Play  for  the  Leisured  Class,  by  John  L.  Balderston 

27.  The  Lion's  Mouth, 

by  George  Madden  Martin  and  Harriet  L.  Kennedy 

28.  Autumn,  by  Ilya  Surguchev 

29.  Lord  Byron,  by  Maurice  Ferber 

30.  The  Giant's  Stair,  by  Wilbur  Daniel  Steele 

31.  Words  and  Thoughts,  by  Don  Marquis 

32.  The  Farce  of  the  Worthy  Master  Pierre  Patelin, 

translated  and  arranged  by  Moriiz  Jagendorf 

Others  in  Preparation 

Bound  in  Art  Paper,  each  50  cents 

D.  APPLETON  AND  COMPANY,  NEW  YORK 


UNIVERSITY  OF  ILLINOIS-URBANA 

973.7L63H3L57C  COM 

A  CHILD  OF  THE  FRONTIER  NY 


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